


Guilt and Courage

by paranoid_fridge



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-11-25 10:30:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paranoid_fridge/pseuds/paranoid_fridge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Thorin had not been conscious to witness Bilbo's act of courage - and what if this leads to Bilbo attempting to prove himself again - only this time the consequences are dire?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As I am writing fanfiction, I do not own the work or character referenced. 
> 
> Anyhow, this is an what-if idea that evolved. I do hope it is an enjoyable read; and please feel free to point out any mistakes. :)

The sun had not yet risen when Bilbo awoke. A fire was burning nearby, and he could hear the dwarves chattering among themselves. With a yawn he sat up, shivering in the cool air.

"Slept well, Master Baggins?" asked Bofur, who was packing up his bedroll.

"Well enough," said Bilbo, who couldn't help missing his comfortable feather bed at Bag End. Rock and grass were no suitable replacement, even though, unlike his dwarf companions, he had managed to keep the majority of his possessions through both the warg attack and his odyssey through the Misty Mountains.

The peaks behind him were still shrouded in darkness, black silhouettes against a slowly brightening horizon. In the far east the sky was a bright, cloudless blue, promising a warm day at last. Underneath, surrounded by dust, lay the Lonely Mountain.

Bilbo sighed, relieved that their aim had finally come in sight, and then untangled himself from his blankets. Most of the dwarfs were up, and Bombur had started preparing a broth of some kind for breakfast, while Bofur and Fili knelt at Thorin's side.

Nori and Dori remained asleep, as did Oin and Dwalin. Ori was settled next to the fire, carefully writing in the leather-bound tome he always carried. It bordered on a miracle, thought Bilbo, that it had survived this long.

"Breakfast has been caught," proclaimed a new voice, and Kili emerged from around a corner, holding a hare. They had made camp just underneath the flat plateau where the eagles had dropped them; not wanting to move their unconscious and injured leader during the night – even though Gandalf had declared him not too grievously wounded the night before.

"Just one?" asked Bombur, but Kili opened his satchel and revealed more.

Bilbo had to admit the prospect of a filling breakfast was tempting, even if at Bag End he would never have considered eating a meal that was barely more than meet in a broth with whatever spices they had at hand.

Bombur started skinning the hares, and Bilbo unconsciously rubbed at his chest. His ribcage was aching – probably from one of his numerous encounters with hard rock surfaces yesterday.

"And how are you this morning?" asked Gandalf, and Bilbo dropped his hand abruptly.

"Fine I suppose," said Bilbo. He refrained from shrugging – the dull pain in his chest a fierce warning against exaggerated movements.

Gandalf raised an eyebrow. "I would advise you to consult with Balin if you…"

"Uncle!" exclaimed Fili suddenly, and both Bilbo and Gandalf turned to look. Thorin's prone form was stirring, and Fili had to tell him to "calm down, everything is fine, don't worry. Everything is perfectly all right. The danger's past."

Thorin still insisted on sitting up. Bilbo stayed behind – Gandalf and Balin were much better equipped to deal with injuries – and yet caught sight of just how pale their leader was.

"The eagles brought us…" he heard Kili say, and Thorin gazed over their company.

"Is everybody well?" he asked, his voice slightly strained.

"But for a few scrapes and bruises," said Gandalf, "Luck was with us last night."

"Luck indeed," repeated Thorin with distaste, "And I believe luck brought our burglar along, too. Or did he take this chance to return to his hearth?"

Even though Bilbo felt the curious glances cast his way, he couldn't quite stop flinching in bewilderment. The best he could do was to keep his expression straight – even though he inside confusion rose, with a sting of grief.

He may not have been thinking straight when he had cast himself between Thorin and his executioner, but he had hoped Thorin might think at least a little better of him. Not, to be honest, that his actions had been cleverly thought-out, skillfully executed or even rational. Yet…

"Bilbo Baggins remains with your company, Thorin Oakenshield," said Gandalf, his face completely blank. Then the wizard raised an eyebrow. "He did more than his due last night."

Kili nodded enthusiastically, but Thorin's expression did not soften.

"Had I seen it, I would probably feel more inclined to believe you," he said to Gandalf. Then he turned to the rest of the company. "Unless there are still injuries to be dressed, we depart after breakfast."

He straightened his back, and even sitting down, with blood and mud on his face Thorin remained regal. "The way to Erebor is long still, and Durin's Day is fast approaching. We need to be on our way."

His short declaration met with enthusiastic agreement; only Bilbo couldn't quite find any cheer in his heart. Instead he turned away to glance at the shape of the Lonely Mountain in the distance. At least the end of this journey was visible.

"Don't take it personal, laddie," said Bofur, stepping next to Bilbo, "Thorin probably just doesn't remember what you did – the rest of us do, and we'll make sure he does, too."

Bilbo nodded, swallowing down the odd lump constricting his throat.

Bofur patted his shoulder. "Just give it some time. He'll probably remember soon enough."

"Probably," agreed Bilbo before falling silent. Bofur looked at him with pity, before walking over to Bifur who was unsuccessfully trying to tell Ori something, and a part of Bilbo was relieved. He usually quite enjoyed Bofur's company, but right now his ribs were aching from where he had fallen against rock yesterday.

It made sense that Thorin did not remember. It was perfectly understandable, and Bilbo couldn't fault him for it; not when he would have probably passed out the moment that warg had descended. There was no one to blame, yet Bilbo couldn't help the sting of bitter disappointment in his chest.

"Breakfast is ready!" proclaimed Bombur somewhere behind him. And with a heartfelt sigh Bilbo prepared himself for another long day of walking.

* * *

It was a steep path down the mountain. Bilbo stumbled more than once, and his dwarf companions barely fared better. Small rocks kept tumbling away from under their feet, rolling merrily along or disappearing down the steep ravines to their left. Gandalf walked ahead, searching for the easiest path to navigate the difficult slope, while the steadily rising sun brought sweat to Bilbo's forehead.

By the time lunch hour arrived Bilbo was out of breath and his ribs were on fire. He dropped his pack the moment Thorin reluctantly allowed for a break in the shadow of a cluster of pine trees and greenery– and felt the disapproving look cast his way.

There was nothing to be done, Bilbo concluded. His one attempt to redeem himself in Thorin's eyes had endeared him well enough to the rest of the company – only the one he had been defending had missed it.

It wasn't so much frustrating as that it left Bilbo feeling disappointed, exhausted and generally rather homesick. So when his ears picked up the sound of a nearby stream, he threw caution into the wind and disappeared through the thick bushes, following the sound.

He hadn't even gone for long before he found himself on the bank of a clear, moderately wide stream. The water was icy cold – it probably came fresh from the snow-capped mountains looming behind them – and refreshing.

With a deep breath Bilbo squatted and begun washing the dirt off of his face. He would have preferred a nice, warm bath – even a lake would do – and enough time to soak, relax his sore muscles and wash his clothes. The dress shirt was barely even off-white anymore, his waistcoat mostly ruined and his jacket almost beyond description.

Still, the cold water did some good, if only to rid himself of the burning in his eyes and clean the mud out from under his fingernails. With one last, longing glance to the water Bilbo turned back – while Thorin's opinion of him could hardly think further, he didn't want to risk it by delaying them all.

Lunch was pheasants. Ori kept the most beautiful feathers in his book, while Bombur made short work of the flesh attached to them. Bilbo picked up a place next to the bushes, mostly out of Thorin's line of sight, and busied himself by searching his pack for materials to mend his jacket.

Barely a moment later Fili dropped down next to him.

"Would you like to learn some sword techniques?" he asked.

Bilbo glanced up to find Fili grinning down at him. "That is, of course, if you haven't developed your own technique in the meantime, of course. Like Gloin did – you know, the first time I saw him swing that axe I would have sworn he was mad. But according to him there is some technique to it."

"There is," Gloin called over, "And I would gladly teach you, if you had any appreciation for axes."

Fili shrugged. "They're not much to my likening," he told Bilbo, "Even though they are kind of traditional for us dwarves. But at least I decided for a sword, unlike my dear brother. Our mother was quite mad when he insisted on making a bow his weapon. Thorin eventually convinced her, though."

Bilbo nodded, but couldn't help the uneasiness in his chest. Yet another tale that made Thorin sound fair and just – it seemed only that where Bilbo was concerned this side of Thorin remained hidden. Which was probably his fault.

Fili nudged his side. "He'll come around soon enough. But now, how about my offer?"

However, not a moment after Bilbo had agreed, Bombur called for lunch and then they were on their way again. The path became easier, less steep, and soft grass began replacing the sharp rocks. More trees provided ample shade from the sun's burning rays, and hidden behind the greenery Bilbo could hear the stream merrily gurgling. Sometimes, when looking up he spied the rocky and snow-capped mountaintops of the Misty Mountains; imposing against the cloudless blue sky.

And while at any other time the sight might have sent his Tookish heart soaring; now he found it difficult to even smile.

* * *

The sun was setting when all went wrong.

Conversation had died down with the growing fatigue of their company. Already Bilbo was longing just to lie down and stretch his aching legs. Dinner would not go amiss, either, he thought, when Thorin stopped abruptly, as did Gandalf.

Their leader raised a hand, gesturing for silence.

The forest, around them, Bilbo noticed, had gone deadly quiet. Not a bird could be heard, not a leave was moving. He held his breath. In front of him he saw Gloin remove his axe without a sound. Kili drew his bow, and Gandalf his sword.

Abruptly a warg threw itself into their midst – Fili barely managed to roll out of its path – howling, and baring his teeth. His howl was answered; Bilbo felt like dropping his sword and running, while Gandalf killed the first warg with one blow.

Then there was chaos. More wargs emerged from all sides, howling, growling, their teeth glinting menacingly in the shadows of the forest. Gloin threw himself into the fight with a fierce shout, his axe bloodied within moments. Gandalf was dishing out blows left and right, his staff and sword equally devastating to the enemy. Thorin's movements were restrained, yet fierce – where his sword connected, the enemy died instantly. And all Bilbo could do was press his back against the rough bark of a tree and try not to drop his sword.

His fingers trembled, his eyes could barely track the events – there were Nori and Dori, almost gleefully double-teaming a particularly fierce warg, here was Fili, skillfully dodging attacks while landing his own blows perfectly. Bifur was wrestling a beast on the ground, while Kili kept to higher ground, dispatching arrows.

It was then that Bilbo sensed a movement. A warg crept toward Fili – who would not see it, until it was too late, concentrated on the scene before him as he was. The warg, however, had failed to notice Bilbo leaning against the tree it passed.

The creature was close enough Bilbo could smell the hideous stench emanating from its fur, and see the thick muscles move underneath. One blow of those legs would undoubtedly be enough to take his head off – and one blow from his blade would suffice to kill it.

At least the Took side of him believed it. And since his Baggins side had withdrawn the moment of the attack, Bilbo took on deep breath and launched himself at the warg. His blade caught the beast in the throat – not the clean cut Bilbo intended, and when the warg shook its head the blade slid out and Bilbo stumbled backwards. Blood splattered outwards, and the creature faltered, its angry growl intermixed with gurgling.

His heart was pounding loud enough to drown out all other sounds. Bilbo kept his blade firmly between himself and the warg; its demonic eyes ever watchful, even as it started swaying – it's death decided, yet those demonic eyes promised to take Bilbo along, too. Then Bilbo slipped and made the mistake of glancing at the ground.

He felt the whistling of air, a soft swoosh – barely audible, yet devastating and he braced for the fatal blow – when an arrow whirred past his ear, catching the warg underneath his eye. The beast stumbled, and the clawed prank aimed at Bilbo's chest fell short.

Bilbo felt the claws brushing his skin – an oddly numb sensation – then the warg collapsed, and he was stumbling backwards, off balance and barely managed dodge another warg. Suddenly he was right in the middle of battle, the ground around him blood-flecked and already littered with warg cadavers.

He ducked under another one, parried a swiped prank, stumbled into Dwalin's back, and then Ori called something he couldn't hear, so he just nodded and trudged on. Stab here, dodge there – his mind could barely process his body's movements, less figure out any kind of survival strategy.

Bofur made short work of a warg behind Bilbo, and somewhere Gandalf was yelling to let none escape, to kill them all. Bilbo didn't even see the sorcerer.

But he saw Thorin, engaged with a warg more than twice the size of the one Bilbo had barely managed to slay. Before Thorin laid three dead wargs already, the fourth was engaging him, and a fifth was approaching from the side.

Madness was perhaps what made Bilbo jump between the warg and their leader a second time.

It was a bad idea.

The warg reared up momentarily, growling and biting, and Bilbo managed one faint thrust before a prank caught his side and he was tossed out of the way like a rag doll, crashing against a boulder and collapsing to the ground, motionless.

When Thorin turned at the commotion behind him he saw a warg in his death throes, a small sword sticking out of its throat. Behind it laid the unmoving, bloodied form of their burglar.

_tbc_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I am writing fanfiction, I do not own the work or character referenced.
> 
> Thank you very much for taking time to read this - I do hope it is enjoyable, and please feel free to point out any oddities or mistakes to me. :)

One blow from Thorin's sword severed the warg's head instantly. Steps on the ground behind him alarmed him to the presence of another, and he had to duck out of its leap. He raised his sword when the warg turned, but just then an arrow found its home in the warg's throat.

"Master Baggins!" he heard Bofur exclaim, followed by hurried steps.

Thorin dared not to look back – not when an unknown number of wargs remained. Instead he chanced a glance around – only few of his company were still engaged in combat, making short work of their enemies. Gloin brought his axe down on the head of a would-be assailant, Fili took down another one – there was a bloody scratch on Nori's face, and Bombur had sat down to catch his breath, but they all appeared all right.

"Make sure none escape or survive!" shouted Gandalf, and at any other time Thorin might have begrudged him for giving orders to his company. Around him, the noise of the fight was gradually fading, and over the rustling leaves, the dying wargs' gurgling he heard Bofur's vain attempts at rousing the Halfling far too clearly.

"… happened?" Ori inquired, as Thorin finally turned and marched over.

Bofur was bent over Bilbo's motionless body, and Ori knelt next to him. The others were approaching, too, and Thorin cast a long gaze at Bilbo – if not for him, Thorin would be either dead or grievously injured. He had only noticed the warg behind him after Bilbo had attacked it – and the Halfling had paid dearly for his good deed.

"How is he?" Thorin asked of Bofur, sheathing his sword.

There was a wound on the side of Bilbo's head, probably form where he had hit the rocks. But what truly worried Thorin were four parallel gashes running across Bilbo's chest. Bofur had already set to undoing the crimson-stained shirt, while Thorin swallowed down the odd lump forming in his throat and stepped up behind Bofur.

"Out cold," said Bofur, teeth gritted, "His pulse isn't good, but I can't say if that's from the injuries or the fight. Ori, keep a watch on Mr. Baggins' pulse for me, will you?"

Ori carefully reached for Bilbo's wrist – on his face the terror Thorin tried his hardest to subdue openly played out. Part of him remained in shock and bewilderment. Beneath it, however, rose a far more uncomfortable emotion and he couldn't look at Gandalf as the wizard brushed past him.

Bofur was only too happy to let Gandalf take his place; he stepped back and joined the silent observers. The entire company had drawn together, now that the wargs all had been slain, there was nothing to do but observe the aftermath.

Muttering under his breath, Gandalf let his hand hover over Bilbo's face before drawing aside the shirt to inspect the injuries. The four parallel gashes – claw marks, now that Thorin could see them – ran diagonally across Bilbo's chest, hardly longer than Gandalf's hand. Yet that equaled almost the width of Bilbo's torso, and Thorin grit his teeth.

Hadn't he always made a point of seeing to it that the younger or smaller members of his company were protected? That, at the very least, somebody was at hand to help them out if an opponent turned out to be too strong? Apparently Bilbo had not been included in this, and Thorin realized he had himself to blame for this at the most – not only had he made it clear how little Bilbo fit in their company, but also had he rather unsubtly been doubting the Halfling's suitability to their quest.

And in consequence, Bilbo had thrown himself between Thorin and an enemy far too large and strong in what may just have been an attempt to prove himself.

"These are not poisoned," said Gandalf eventually, and Thorin emerged from his dark contemplations while several of his companions sighed in relief, "However, they will need careful attention lest they get infected."

"I have some bandages left – the goblins did not take these," offered Balin, drawing up next to Gandalf, "Though I believe we ought to clean them first."

"I'll get water!" shouted Kili, and disappeared before anybody could say a word. Gandalf's hands kept hovering over Bilbo's chest, a frown on his face. Thorin's heart skipped a beat.

"Broken ribs?" inquired Balin, and somebody hissed – Thorin himself had seen comrades die of broken ribs and punctured lungs. The notion of losing their little burglar to this … he shook his head, casting off the thought.

"Cracked, I believe," replied Gandalf evenly, "Though with treatment these should all heal."

"Treatment?" echoed Nori, his tone expressing their shared sentiment. Right now they would have paid any price to get treatment for their burglar, but they were out in the wild, far from any settlement and without even their own supplies.

Gandalf remained calm. "There is somebody who can help not too far from here – maybe three days on foot. I intended to go there anyhow, seeing as it is the last welcoming house before Mirkwood."

Thorin nodded, and before he could say anything, Kili reappeared with five filled water skins.

"Hurry up," Balin called, "I don't think losing any more blood will do Mr. Baggins much good, so I'd like to see these wounds wrapped. Furthermore, Thorin, should we make camp? I don't think we shall go far tonight."

Darkness was almost completely upon them; and only a glimmer of orange colored the sky beyond the mountains. While visibility sufficed for walking during cloudless nights as this, the company was exhausted. Thorin read it in their stances – the slump of Fili's shoulders, how Dori balanced his weight on one leg more than the other and the way Nori leant on his axe.

"Fili, Dori, I want you to go and find a place to camp. Don't go too far," he said, "Kili, Bombur, would you see to it that we have some sustenance tonight?"

"Can we move him?" he asked Gandalf, and nodded at Bilbo who remained unconscious.

"Once those wounds are dressed, it should not be a problem," replied their wizard, and then Thorin was left to guilt and regret as he watched Balin carefully clean Bilbo's injuries. Their burglar had paled considerably, and Thorin couldn't help wondering if that stillness was quite natural – Gandalf appeared not too concerned at this, but in Thorin's opinion Bilbo should have woken up by now.

"This marks the second time Mr. Baggins cast himself between you and the enemy," remarked Balin as he wiped away the blood from Bilbo's chest, and Thorin glanced at the white-bearded companion. Balin was watching him in return, and continued: "You were unconscious at that time, but up on the cliff it was Mr. Baggins who dispatched your would-be executor."

Thorin swallowed down the storm of emotions rising in his chest. "Why wasn't I told?" he asked as evenly as possible.

Balin shrugged. "The opportunity never arose, I suppose. First the eagles carried us away, then we were on the march again, and before long we came under attack."

Thorin fell silent. There was little he could say – he wished he had been told earlier, yet what good would that do now? As it was, he owed Bilbo Baggins his life twice.

"Also I believe he did help Kili out at one point or another," said Balin, "Our burglar may not be a particularly skilled fighter, but he is observant and more than willing to help. Perhaps, though, a word on his methods might be in order? He has been lucky so far, and I would not like to see it run out."

"I will see to it," promised Thorin, vowing to himself that he would. And he would also keep an eye on the hobbit in future battles.

"Very well," said Balin, who knew Thorin long enough to be able to tell what was on his mind, "For now, could you give me a hand and raise Mr. Baggins up?"

Balin fell silent as he worked, while Thorin thoughtfully eyed the still slowly bleeding wounds. They were not deep enough to be fatal by themselves, yet blood loss coupled with infection would easily result in a death sentence out in the wild. Gandalf had not yet made a final prognosis, Thorin remembered – they'd better make their way to the wizard's acquaintance without further delays.

Also they might see about getting Mr. Baggins other clothes. It was a wonder he hadn't frozen on the mountains in his jacket, but even leather would at least offer more protection than silk and brocade did.

Not that Thorin wanted to see him participate in future skirmishes. Now, with his hands holding Bilbo up like a doll while Balin wrapped bandages around his chest, Thorin found his perspective on their burglar changed.

He had initially begrudged him his comfortable and sedentary lifestyle, as well as the innocent naivety accompanying it. Yet for some reason Bilbo had chosen to give this up in order to join the quest of a group he had absolutely no ties to, and a cause that was not his own. He had never wielded a sword, and the only calluses on his fingers probably stemmed from writing or gardening work. Thorin could wrap his hands around Bilbo's upper arms with ease – this was a person that had decided a silk shirt, brocade waistcoat and corduroy overcoat were apparel fitting to traveling through the wilderness.

And yet here he was. Thorin could only marvel at Bilbo's decision – and probably the least he could do in repayment was to make certain the hobbit survived this journey. Death was not a good remuneration for kindness.

* * *

In the end it was hours after nightfall that Bilbo stirred. Most of their company had since succumbed to sleep, their stomachs settled and a fire merrily crackling in their midst. Thorin had taken the first watch as his troubled mind would not let him rest anyway. Gandalf had cast him an inquisitive glance, before leaning against a tree trunk and closing his eyes.

Around him, snores echoed through the wood, occasionally joined by the soft rustling of leaves in the trees or a curious bird hopping by. Ever so often his watchful gaze dropped down to Bilbo's face, pale even in the firelight, and it was then that he noticed the fluttering eyelids.

"Mr. Baggins?" he softly inquired.

There was an unintelligible grunt, followed by Bilbo opening his eyes. He blinked, dazed, before attempting to sit up. However, at that moment Thorin leaned over and carefully, but firmly forced Bilbo to remain on the ground by a hand on his shoulder.

"You were injured earlier, Mr. Baggins. Do you remember?"

Bilbo closed his eyes. "Well," he said with a soft sigh, "That would explain why I feel as if I'd been trampled by a cow herd. Though I don't seem to recall how the fight ended."

"We slew the wargs," replied Thorin, "You would not remember, for you were already unconscious at that time. And I owe you my thanks – if not for you, I would probably not be sitting here right now."

Bilbo attempted a shrug, though ended up flinching in pain. "It was nothing, really," he said, "Only the decent thing to do. But mind you, could I perhaps get some water?"

Thorin rose without a word, retrieving a water skin, and, after a moment, also decided to take a bowl of the soup Bombur had made for dinner along. Having remained close to the fire, it was still warm. When he returned, Bilbo was struggling to sit up, his face scrunched up in pain.

"Let me give you hand," said Thorin, and carefully guided Bilbo to sit against a tree stump, and the hobbit sighed in relief, a hand unconsciously holding his ribs through the covers – his own blanket, and what looked like Kili's fur cape on top. Thorin observed him carefully, but found the hobbit not paler than before.

"You will need to watch your movements," said Thorin as he handed Bilbo the water skin, "You injured your ribs – they will need time to heal, and it would be wise not to exacerbate their condition."

"I see," murmured Bilbo, as he set the water skin aside and tentatively sucked in a deep breath. The movement obviously pained him, and even in the firelight his face looked wan.

"Eat something," said Thorin, and held out the bowl.

Bilbo frowned, before accepting it. Thorin understood all too well how injuries and fever could disperse every notion of hunger or appetite – he remembered little of the first weeks after the battle for Moria, lost in fever-dreams as he had been, but when he had awoken he had lost a lot of weight, and strangely enough barely felt hungry for it. For the time being, however the hobbit did not seem feverish.

"Mr. Baggins," Thorin set out after a while, "Earlier I was informed that tonight was not the first time you stepped into a fight on my behalf."

Bilbo glanced up shortly, "Yes. Well, yes, but it wasn't very brave or anything. It … I was merely in the right place at the right time."

Thorin raised one eyebrow. "While I regrettably do not remember the first occasion, I know that at least tonight you were initially on the opposite site of the clearing.

"I ended up stumbling across," said Bilbo, and set the empty bowl aside, "Really, there wasn't much to it."

"I am unfamiliar with hobbit customs, Mr. Baggins, but among dwarves we take life-saving very seriously. And I certainly owe you mine, so…"

Bilbo raised a hand, managing an exhausted smile. "Well, I do owe mine to you, too. You could have very well left me to the trolls, or tumble down the mountain – and there were certainly many more occasions."

"You are a member of this company. Of course we wouldn't have left you to the trolls," said Thorin, a frown on his face, "This is only honorable."

"I don't know about honor, but isn't it the same for me, then?" asked Bilbo, "As a member of this company I look out for the others. It's the decent thing to do, as a hobbit would say."

Thorin was stuck silent then, and Bilbo used the moment to pull the blankets a little higher around himself. He was more than grateful for the warmth the extra fur provided – his blanket had been adequate, previously, but it was nice being actually warm for a change.

"I would still rule you performed beyond the demands of decency, then," said Thorin, "Especially since you are not trained in combat nor suited to it. But enough of this, you need to rest."

There was a faint glint of protest in Bilbo's eyes, but he sighed instead. "Well, I'll concede to needing rest if I'm to walk tomorrow."

Thorin nodded, and watched attentively as Bilbo settled down. Each movement was slow, and precise, and yet it was plain that the hobbit remained in a good deal of pain. Thorin doubted he would be up to walking tomorrow – Bilbo's fast succumbing to sleep might have been caused by fatigue as well as his injuries. But even though he had been coherent, he wasn't quite on the road to recovery yet.

_tbc_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for taking time to read this far! I apologize for the delay with this chapter (and it's not even an action piece) ^^;

The next morning Bilbo was running a fever.

His cheeks were flushed, and even though he could barely sit up, he insisted would be able to walk. Gandalf was crouched next to him, a steaming bowl of soup in his hand, listening to the hobbit's slurred ramblings with an indulgent smile.

Thorin however had seen the concern behind that expression.

"It was only to be expected," said Balin, stepping up next to Thorin, "With those injuries…"

Thorin frowned. "Infection?"

Balin sighed. "It seems likely. Between the wizard, Oin and myself, we certainly did the best we could, but without supplies..."

"Then we should be on our way once the scouts return," said Thorin, and cast a glance over to see Gandalf nodding at something Bilbo had said, "Is he up to travel?"

"He won't be walking under his own power," replied Balin immediately, "Not with his fever. And for the sake of his ribs, I'd recommend he stay off his feet until those have healed. He'll be in pain every step otherwise."

Thorin's face darkened. "Are you certain they aren't broken?"

"Not entirely," Balin admitted, "Though Oin and Gandalf agree that it appears Mr. Baggins suffered no internal injuries – we would have seen these by now."

A nod was the only response from Thorin who was staring at a distant point over Balin's shoulder. For a moment he couldn't quite suppress a vision of Bilbo paling, coughing up blood and fading underneath their hands.

"He is not doing too badly, though," added Balin with an affectionate smile, "I have seen battled-hardened warriors succumb to smaller injuries."

Thorin said nothing – he had shared many of Balin's experiences, and knew all too well how many friends they had laid to rest after everyone had thought the worst was over. Recovery processes were delicate – and often things as little as a cold could completely undo them. However, for Bilbo's sake, Thorin hoped Balin's confidence was warranted.

* * *

After a short, subdued breakfast the company prepared to set forth. The air remained cool, and by then Bilbo was shivering slightly.

"Do you think you could do me favor, Mr. Baggins?" asked Fili, and shrugged out of his fur coat, "I have to admit I'm a bit warm – could you carry the coat for me?"

Bilbo blinked at Fili for a long moment before nodding. Fili then proceeded to drape his coat over the hobbit's shoulders – who was practically drowning in the garment. Bofur openly smiled at the picture, and while Nori crouched down.

"Up you go, Mr. Baggins," he said.

"I, I can walk," protested Bilbo.

Balin stepped up with a shake of his head. "You can, but it won't do you much good. Your injuries need to heal, and we intend to travel far today."

"But won't that be terribly inconvenient?" asked Bilbo. His words were not quite as clearly enunciated as usual, Thorin found.

Nori cast a smirk over his shoulder. "Rather the opposite, Mr. Baggins. My usual pack might just have weighted more than you ere I lost it. We dwarfs may not look it, but we are rather strong."

"Indeed," added Gandalf, "So, Bilbo, if you would refrain from being stubborn any further, I believe we could be on our way immediately."

* * *

Gandalf turned their company north, leading them over grass-covered hills. The sun shone warm overhead, and they could hear a stream gurgling not far away. Sometimes it emerged, glittering between tall grass and low, dark green trees. Behind their backs, the landscape opened up, the grass more brown than green – residue of a long, warm summer.

To their left remained the misty mountains, their white peaks towering at imposing heights, somewhere to their right lay the deep darkness of Mirkwood.

Enveloped in the warmth of Fili's fur coat, Bilbo dozed off, and barely woke even when he was transferred from Nori's to Dwalin's back. For a moment, a cool hand pressed against his forehead – he couldn't quite help the shudder – before it was taken away. Somebody was calling his name, and somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he was too hot. Yet he wasn't sweating, and the warmth beckoned, so he kept his eyes closed and let himself drift off.

The company marched on. Hours passed and the sun rose higher in the sky. Somebody attempted a song, but even with the bright blue sky overhead Thorin found himself unable to lift his voice. Too many thoughts crowded his mind – along with unbearable guilt.

He had openly accused the Halfling of being ill-suited to this journey – and in return, Bilbo had saved his life twice. It shouldn't have taken something so dramatic to open Thorin's eyes – especially not something that may yet claim Bilbo's life – after all, hadn't he himself proclaimed in Bilbo's home that he would ask no more than a willing heart from each member of the company?

And hadn't the Halfling proven his willingness already by leaving behind the comforts of his home? By joining on a quest that did not actually concern him in the slightest – to help a group of complete strangers that more or less forcefully invaded his home.

This action alone should have gained Thorin's recognition. Instead he had chosen to hark upon Bilbo's preoccupation with handkerchiefs, brass buttons and lack of fighting skills – in a situation, where his company was far from being made up of warriors only. Balin, experienced as he was on a battlefield, was an advisor and diplomat primarily, Bombur preferred food over fights any day, Bofur was a toymaker and Ori a scribe. And for all their posturing, Kili and Fili had yet to see a serious battle.

He sighed. Now he could see how Bilbo's full pantry and the comfortable hobbit home embedded in that peaceful landscape had blinded him. Instead of seeing the Halfling's willingness and potential, he had seen only a lack of hardship and suffering, and something black had coiled and risen within him.

The churning in his gut had been an old acquaintance. A soul-deep fury at a world where his nephews – heirs to what had once been the greatest kingdom of Middle Earth – had to grow up in exile, pitied and ridiculed behind their back, and somewhere else beings like Bilbo Baggins thrived in peace and comfort without having seen hardship in his entire life.

However, begrudging Bilbo for the unfairness of the world had been Thorin's very own mistake. He could only hope he would still have a chance to make amends.

"Thorin," called Balin, "We need to stop – we all would arrive at our destinations today rather than tomorrow, but it will do us no good if anybody collapses from exhaustion. One person to carry is enough already, and we can consider ourselves lucky Bilbo is no heavy-weight."

Thorin frowned in silence. The invoked image of carrying Bombur was unappealing, though not stronger than his worry for their fourteenth member.

Balin leaned in and lowered his voice, "Also Mr. Baggins needs food – with all the blood he lost he can't afford to miss a meal."

* * *

They settled in the shade of a small grove of trees for lunch. Several birds were procured quickly, and a particular lucky encounter brought down a deer, too. The bushes around them carried berries, and soon enough Bombur had the deer roasting over a small fire.

Bofur woke Bilbo once lunch had been prepared. The hobbit blinked up, dazed and tried to straighten up – but immediately slumped back against the tree trunk with a pained groan.

"Careful, careful," said Bofur.

"I'll try to remember," muttered Bilbo once he got his breath back. Then he glanced past Bofur – who could tell Bilbo had trouble focusing – and took a sniff. "Is that food?"

"Yes, Bombur's outdone himself. Are you hungry?"

Bilbo nodded. His smarting ribs didn't quite distract him from growling of his stomach – even though a part of him still felt queasy at the idea of food.

Indeed, it turned out, the meat – especially the fatty parts – weren't agreeing with his stomach. The vegetables, however, did, and after the first four bites Bilbo began to feel more aware than he'd been since the encounter with the wargs the previous day. He still was too hot – he could tell he was running a fever – but he didn't quite feel like closing his eyes and dozing off again.

On the other side, Ori turned to Gandalf. "He's doing better, isn't he?"

"Somewhat," said Gandalf, though he did not sound overly optimistic.

"At least he ought to fully recover," added Oin, "Granted those injuries aren't aggravated."

"The sooner we get a roof over our heads the better," and with that Gandalf turned on his heel and stalked away.

"What's with him?" asked Fili, joining the little group. Ori shrugged, but Balin cast a thoughtful glance after the wizard. "He probably feels responsible."

Fili blinked. "What?"

Balin stroked his beard. "Well, I'd say it's because he picked Bilbo to join us. So I can understand that he'd rather not see him hurt."

"Yeah," said Fili, "But Gandalf knows there's a dragon waiting at the end of the journey, isn't he?"

Balin shrugged, "Indeed. But then again, hasn't your mind changed too? I'll be honest – when we set out from the Shire I wasn't much convinced with Mr. Baggins' suitability to this quest. I'm still not, however by now I'd hate to see Mr. Baggins come to harm. And I believe I am not the only one to feel this."

Fili turned to look at his uncle. Thorin stood at the far side, gazing out over the landscape, a frown on his face. Balin's words were true – Fili knew it in his heart.

"Anyway, there's nothing to be done for it right now, so I believe we'd best be on our way," suggested Balin, and that was that.

* * *

"Mr. Baggins," Thorin's voice cut through Bilbo's contemplations, "We'll set out shortly."

"Alright," replied Bilbo, and attempted to get up.

Thorin was so surprised at the sudden reaction that he failed to stop Bilbo. The hobbit almost made it to his feet, before he flinched, pressed a hand to his ribs and crumpled. Thorin managed to catch him in his arms, and for a moment Bilbo was pressed against his chest, gasping and shivering under Thorin's hands.

He could feel the heat radiating out from the small body, and was reminded of a time when Fili and Kili had been young, and clung to their uncle during their wanderings. It was perhaps instinct that made him brush soothingly over Bilbo's back and whisper "easy" until the hobbit's trembling died down.

Eventually Bilbo glanced up, and managed a self-depreciating smile. "Sorry about that," he said, "I guess I'll have to try this a bit slower."

Thorin's grip tightened, so that Bilbo couldn't actually try.

"Mr. Baggins," said Thorin as confusion crossed over Bilbo's face, "You are not well enough to be walking."

Bilbo blinked. "My legs aren't hurt."

Thorin cleared his throat. "But your ribs are. Walking might worsen your condition, so I will be carrying your for now."

"Y-You?" Bilbo frowned, "Well, no offense, but I'd hate to be a burden as my legs are perfectly fine. Really, I think I'd like to walk for a bit."

"Be that as it may, we intend to cover many miles before nightfall," said Thorin.

He felt Bilbo stiffen underneath his hands, and then the hobbit evaded Thorin's gaze.

"In that case," that Bilbo, his voice suddenly flat, "I would hate to be a burden."

Thorin sighed, and if his grip tightened further it was subconscious. "Mr. Baggins, I did not mean to imply you would be a burden. We are all rather concerned for your health, and my family is greatly indebted to you. We would rather not see you come to further harm."

"I, I see," there was a faint flush on Bilbo's cheeks – which might have been endearing under other circumstances, but then it only served to remind Thorin how pale Bilbo remained even though he was running a fever. Though as with his ribs, only time would cure the blood loss.

* * *

They had been on the road for hours already, and the sun was setting in the west, casting long shadows and tinting the world in shades of gold. While the Misty Mountains grew distant behind them, they had not yet arrived at Gandalf's destination. Indeed, throughout the entire day they had not seen a single settlement.

"How far is it?" asked Balin.

Gandalf turned, "At least one more day."

"Then we probably should settle for the night," suggested Oin.

"That won't be any good," called Kili – he and Fili had been sent out to scout ahead by Thorin earlier on, "Goblins passed this area earlier."

"Then it isn't safe," said Thorin, the same time as Balin, forehead creased in concern, asked: "Goblins, so far from the mountain? Which way did they go?"

"Best we could tell they're five hours ahead of us, pursuing a path slightly more to the west," replied Fili.

Gandalf cast a wary glance across the landscape. "That's close – it wouldn't take much for a straggler or a scout to discover us then."

"What then?" asked Kili.

"Walking through the night is not a good choice," Balin said, looking at their leader and the healing scratches on his face, "We all need to rest for at least a few hours."

Thorin took a deep breath. "Then we'll risk it. Fili, Kili – is there a suitable place to set camp? Preferably a location easy to defend? And we'll be doubling the watches tonight."

 

_tbc_


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading! The characters & recognizable settings do obviously not belong to me... and I should warn for violence at this point, too. 
> 
> And now, without further ado, on with the story!

Nightfall brought a sharp northern wind that had leaves rustling and the company shuddering under their fur coats. No fire had been lit in the small cove Kili and Fili had discovered earlier – thick bushes, and trees hid their camp, but it still felt exposed.

Tonight they all slept lightly, their weapons close. Indeed, for many, sleep was hard to come by. While Dwalin and Nori shared the first watch, Thorin, too, found himself observing their surroundings from his bedding.

Gandalf did not even pretend to be resting; the wizard sat upright on a log, while next to him Bilbo slumbered peacefully. When they had redressed his injuries Balin had appeared relieved at their state, and Thorin too, thought those were healing nicely. Only the fever lingered, and while it was not high enough to render Bilbo delirious, it also had not yet broken.

Around them the leaves kept rustling, and Thorin cursed the weather – hearing an enemy approach would be even more difficult, yet he dare not send out scouts for fear of them being discovered. Goblin eyes were well adjusted to the darkness.

Sleep took a long time coming. Through the cover of the treetops he could watch the moon's slow progress across the sky. Snores echoed through the quiet clearing – it would have been a relaxing night, but Thorin's heart kept pounding.

Dwalin and Nori's presence ought to be reassuring. Dwalin had his axe set next to him, ready to be used immediately, while Nori kept staring into the trees, watching for any suspicious movement.

* * *

Thorin awoke to Gloin softly shaking his shoulder. The other dwarf immediately put a finger to his lips, gesturing for Thorin to be silent. Around them, Thorin noticed of the other members of their company were being roused.

"Dori figured he heard something," whispered Gloin, "He's out investigating, but we figured we'd wake everybody in case something goes wrong."

Thorin nodded, and pulled himself to his feet. He checked for the position of his weapons, tightening his belt, before pulling his coat over his shoulders again. The moon was low on the horizon already – dawn wasn't far, but the air was cold.

A rustle in the bushes to their left announced Dori's return. The dwarf glanced around, then gestured for everybody to come closer – Bombur trailed behind, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. Thorin was glad to see Fili and Kili both awake (though he could have done without the tension on their faces); and only Bilbo slumbered on, fitful as his sleep was.

"I think it's scouts," said Dori, "I couldn't catch sight of them, but from what I heard the group isn't larger than six or eight."

"Are they the only ones out there?" inquired Balin.

Dori shrugged. "As far as I could tell. Though I didn't dare to go too far."

Thorin nodded at that.

"We can manage a group that size," said Gloin, and his hand closed around something underneath his robe.

"Certainly," agreed Balin, "However it might also alert other goblin scouts in the area, or possibly even their main host. And judging from the tracks we found earlier today, that must have been close to three-hundred."

Gloin fell silent, and Thorin felt expectant gazes coming to rest on his back. His instinct was to order the attack – if all went well the main host would never find out, and every goblin gone was one less enemy liable to attack.

However there was the matter of silence and haste. A large-scale skirmish might warrant a hasty retreat – and render them unable to follow their plan in the open. And while Bilbo's condition was not so bad that he wouldn't survive another day out in the wild, he wasn't likely to recover this way either.

With a grim frown Thorin turned to their resident wizard. "Master Gandalf, what would you suggest?"

The wizard tugged at his beard, and then cast an unmistakable glance into Bilbo's direction. "Stay hidden," he eventually said, "Do not fight unless you have to. Tomorrow, we will…"

And then he stopped abruptly as a pained groan left Bilbo's lips and the hobbit attempted to roll onto his side. Thorin had barely gotten to his feet, as Oin, Balin and Gandalf already crouched down next to Bilbo, muttering and fussing.

From behind the three Thorin could see that Bilbo's face was stark white underneath a bright flush covering his cheeks, and there was sweat on his forehead. Oin pushed aside the blanket and furs the hobbit was buried under and proceeded to undo the bandages wrapped around Bilbo's chest.

Somebody hissed, and Balin paled.

One of the gashes had healed well, and was barely more than a scratch already. Two more remained red, scabbed over, though the third one – the deepest – was an angry red, the skin around it pale, and Thorin knew what it was even before Oin said "Infection".

Yet his heart stuttered.

"Master Gandalf," said Balin and his voice sounded shaky, "Do you believe we ought to bleed out the wound, or would you rather wait until we reach your acquaintance?"

Gandalf failed to respond immediately – the wizard's brow was wrinkled, his expression grave. "Bleed it out," he said eventually, "I don't think we should risk this worsening."

Exposed to the night air the injury did look grievous, especially with the dark bruises littering Bilbo's small chest. Hidden underneath the clothes it had been easy to forget about it, especially since Bilbo – when he was conscious – had been neither delirious nor in visible pain. Now however he trembled in the cold air.

"Very well," agreed Balin with a heavy sigh.

Thorin swallowed, and turned to the rest of the company. "You do your work. I expect everybody else to stand guard – we can't afford to be taken by surprise."

He cast another glance toward the sky, but while the moon was sinking, dawn was yet a while away. "We will leave the moment the sun rises."

There were no arguments. Perhaps because seeing the wounds on Bilbo's chest exposed had reminded the company of the life at stake – and their own mortality, too.

* * *

The wait was tense. Thorin kept opening and closing his fingers around Orcrist's hilt – and while the cool breeze helped their company to stay awake, he saw some flinch at every louder rustling of leaves. No one dared to speak; only Oin, Balin and Gandalf were whispering among themselves. Bilbo had once again fallen silent – and Thorin avoided contemplating whether or not this bode well.

Most dwarves had taken up positions somewhat hidden among the shrubbery or behind tree trunks – hopefully any potential attackers would never see them. Only Bilbo and his self-appointed caretakers remained in the center of the clearing, but Thorin knew no enemy would get to them without having to kill every other member of the company first. Also, Kili remained with the small group, bow resting ready on his lap.

Then, abruptly, he noted a movement in the darkness.

Thorin stiffened. Saw Dwalin gesture from the corner of his eye. On the clearing, Kili raised his bow and silently readied an arrow. And then, for a moment, the wind fell silent and they all could hear rustling and approaching footsteps.

Grunts.

Two, signaled Nori from across the clearing. Thorin nodded – and glanced over to Gloin. The footsteps were closest to him – Gloin exchanged looks with Kili, and then Thorin held his breath.

"Oi, what's …" said the first goblin, having seen the small group in the clearing.

He never completed the sentence as an arrow pierced his throat. His companion did not get to scream either - Gloin's axe decapitated him precisely and silently. Both bodies hit the ground with a soft thud, and then the breeze picked up again.

For a moment they all remained frozen – but no other footsteps came, no screams were heard, so Thorin dared to take a careful breath. The forest, he noted to himself, was still suspiciously silent.

He wasn't the only one to notice.

"There'll be others," whispered Bofur.

Fili nodded. "I'll scout."

Thorin wanted to stop him. Goblins had an advantage in the dark – and he didn't want his nephew exposed to such an uncalculated risk. Especially when he could tell there were more goblins out there.

Instead he silenced his aching heart and nodded.

* * *

Bilbo awoke because his chest was burning.

Somebody was dabbing the injuries with a liquid, and it set fire to his nerves, when all he wanted was to sink back into the comfortable darkness. He swatted at the hands, only to have his own hand enveloped in two larger ones. Blearily he forced his eyes to open, to find Gandalf staring down at him concernedly.

"Gan ... dalf," he muttered – forming the sounds was unusually difficult.

The wizard managed a fond smile, and Bilbo noticed movement behind him. Oin was holding up a blood-soaked cloth, while Balin looked into another direction entirely. Around them the clearing was completely, unnaturally silent.

"What?" asked Bilbo and attempted to sit up, even though his body ached everywhere and his head was spinning.

"Sssh, stay down," whispered Gandalf.

Then abruptly a fierce burning exploded in the center of his chest, and Bilbo's pressed his eyes shut, hissed , and would have rolled into a ball hadn't somebody been sitting on his legs.

When he blinked the tears away, Balin looked down on him, too. "That was the last bit, Mr. Baggins," the older dwarf announced, "We will just rewrap this, and then we are done."

Bilbo could only nod, the pain still pulsing through his body in time with his heartbeat.

On some silent gesture he found the upper part of his body being lifted up, and somebody was wrapping fabric around his torso. His breath kept hitching – breathing hurt like this, and he couldn't get his lungs filled properly – and then he was lying down again, black spots dancing in front of his eyes and somehow he heard Fili whisper "… at least twice that many."

"Be ready," Thorin replied, and the tension in his voice had Bilbo fight back to consciousness.

This time he noticed Gandalf had his sword next to him – unsheathed, the silver shining on the grass. Oin stood, nodded at them, and silently disappeared out of Bilbo's limited field of vision.

His heart began pounding faster – what was happening, why had the world turned so silent, where was everybody and why couldn't he move? Carefully he reached out and tugged on Gandalf's sleeve – the wizard still had one hand on Bilbo's shoulder, but before the wizard could look at him, there was the clear sound of metal hitting flesh.

Followed by two thuds – a body and its head hitting the ground shortly after each other.

The sound of rustling leaves returned, even though Bilbo felt no wind. "Dwalin!" somebody hissed, and there were more thuds. Bilbo trembled – all he could see were the outlines of trees against a clear, star-studded sky – and never the stars had made him feel so cold.

Footsteps, rustling, thuds – all subdued, but so unendingly loud when the only other noise was the rushing of blood in his own ears. Until there was the clear ring of metal against metal – Balin cursed, pushed to his feet, and Bilbo for the first time caught sight of a small sword in his hand.

"Gandalf?" he tried again and fear made his voice squeak.

The wizard glanced down. Though his expression was probably meant to be reassuring, Bilbo could see the worry in his eyes.

"Don't worry," said Gandalf, "Try to sleep, if you can."

"Sleep?" Bilbo repeated incredulous, momentarily forgetting the pain running through his entire being.

Gandalf swallowed guiltily. "Or just rest – no harm will come to you, my dear hobbit, and you will have to endure a little longer still when morning comes."

Dimly Bilbo recalled talk of an acquaintance, but it did little to distract his mind from the fight undeniably raging around him. He turned his neck to catch a glimpse – and what he saw made his blood run cold.

From his skewered perspective the world was a mixture of gigantic blades of grass, and in between he spied movement, all oddly silent. Three dwarves were cutting down malformed creatures – goblins, his sluggish brain suggested belatedly, left and right. He spied a batch of blond hair, so one of them had to be Fili, yet his vision was too blurred to clearly discern anybody else.

Then a breeze came up, the grass blades moved and obscured all from view.

With a groan Bilbo turned his head around, only to find Gandalf staring over his shoulder with a worried frown on his face. The sound of fighting was closer on that side, too, and Gandalf's hand was already resting on Glamdring's hilt.

"Go," Bilbo whispered – because the dwarves would need his help. And because Bilbo could probably pass for a piece of luggage, immobile as he was, wrapped in furs and blankets.

Gandalf pursed his lips.

"Go, they need you," said Bilbo. More than I do, he added in his mind.

Another ring of metal against metal, now joined by a curse. Gandalf's frown turned unhappy. "It would hardly be proper to leave you now."

"I'll just stay still and play dead," said Bilbo in return, "Just … you're needed there, not here."

From Gandalf's expression he could tell he was correct. Then there was a pained, choked outcry, and Gandalf pushed himself up.

"Very well, but make no move," he insisted, and then laid down a familiar item next to Bilbo. The small blade glinted in the starlight. "A last resort, only. I hope you don't have to use it."

And for a moment both of them recalled a day not too long ago when Gandalf had handed Bilbo the same sword with the words "I hope you never have to" – it felt like this had been another lifetime, as since then Bilbo had used the blade more often than he cared to remember.

He managed a nod.

Gandalf sighed. "I'm sorry."

And then he disappeared from view.

_tbc_


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still do not own the franchise. 
> 
> Well, thank you all very, very much for taking time to read! There's some violence and blood ahead in this chapter, and a cliffhanger. So beware ;-) (and enjoy!)

The moment Gandalf had gone Bilbo let his head fall back. High above the stars were twinkling merrily, and before them the soft breeze had dark silhouettes of leaves and branches dancing. Around him, however rose the icy, subdued cacophony of ringing metal, cut-off screams and hissed orders.

Darkness was tempting – he'd be asleep once he let his eyes close. Death may or may not be waiting on the other side; there was a fair chance he'd remain unseen, buried underneath a mountain of stifling hot furs as he was.

He might also wake to find everyone but him dead.

A shudder ran down his spine. Bilbo clutched Sting's hilt tighter and painfully rolled on his side. Fire erupted along his chest, his lungs constricted, he couldn't breathe – and when he could again, each movement of his chest was pure agony and white spots danced before his eyes.

Bilbo blinked to clear his vision. In the shadow of the clearing he saw the flash of blades. There was Nori, wielding a short sword – which, within seconds found its target in a careless goblin's back. Nearby Ori and Dori double-teamed another three goblins, and beyond them, almost completely swallowed up in the darkness of the trees already Fili fought.

It must have been a leader among the goblins for the creature wielded a sword. With skill – Bilbo had to draw a deep breath, even if his ribcage protested the movement.

The fringes of the clearing were alive with movement. In the darkness it seemed all like a crawling mass, full of sharp noises, groans and gasps – just how many goblins were there? Hadn't they said it was only a small scouting unit?

Bilbo's head hurt, and just wouldn't clear enough for him to know which of his memories had actually happened. And then a nearby thud told him the fighting had left the fringes and come onto the clearing.

Dwalin smashed a goblin's head in not twenty foot from where Bilbo rested. Two other goblins, breaking from the cover of the trees met their end by arrows emerging from the darkness to their left. Thorin alone fought back five goblins at once – Orcrist easily slicing through flesh, bone and muscle.

And still, the fight remained eerily silent.

Bilbo noticed a movement from the corner of his eye. Barely an arm's length away a goblin stood, its eyes fixed on Dwalin – Bilbo's heart stopped. With certain, swift movements the goblin notched an arrow to its bow.

Cold sweat broke out on Bilbo's forehead. The goblin raised the bow, aimed.

Dwalin did not turn – three goblins in front of him, he would not see the one behind his back. Sting felt cold and heavy and Bilbo's throat was dry, his heart hammering suddenly.

The goblin drew back its arm – and Bilbo launched himself forward. Sting sliced through the goblin's calf, sending blood splattering all over the furs and Bilbo's face, as the goblin collapsed with a choked gurgle.

The arrow went wide – a harmless arc against the sky, before burying itself in the grass – and Bilbo felt relieved. For a very split second, then the goblin had drawn a short, wicked knife and bore down on Bilbo.

He barely managed to escape the first stab – the goblin was vicious, and Bilbo barely had enough strength to raise Sting again. Over the pounding in his ears he barely heard the goblin hiss and sputter; the blade gleamed ominously in the starlight.

And Sting found the goblin's throat the same time the goblin's knife found Bilbo's shoulder.

* * *

Bofur had heard the outcry behind him – quiet, yet alarming for the clearing ought to be empty. He ducked a blow, but his own weapon found his enemies chest. And no other goblin popped up to replace it.

From the corner of his eye Bofur caught sight of movement – the pile of blankets shifted, metal gleamed, and his heart leapt to his throat. He turned without a second thought, raced across the clearing – as a nightmare played out before his eyes.

He saw Sting cut through the goblin's throat before he arrived, the dark blood splattering the blade and the ground. The goblin tumbled sideways, dead, but Sting, too, fell to the ground and the image of Bilbo's white, upturned, motionless hand laid out on bloodied grass burned itself into his mind.

Then he was on his knees next to Bilbo, and the hobbit was shaking, eyes half-lidded while around them the sounds of the battle died down. And there was a knife embedded in Bilbo's shoulder. Bofur reached out, but hesitated.

Behind him footsteps approached. "Don't touch it," Oin hissed, and then Gandalf was on his knees next to Bofur.

The wizard muttered something, a worried frown on his face, before looking to Balin. "It's not poisoned."

"Thank god," the white-haired dwarf muttered, and put his sword back into its scabbard.

"What happened?" Thorin called out, his heavy footfalls drawing closer.

Bofur abruptly found all eyes on himself, and he took a deep breath. "I only saw it from the corner of my eye – apparently there was a goblin here, and Mr. Baggins was fighting it. Took it out before I got here, but …"

Helplessly he gestured to the knife.

"Can it be removed?" Thorin inquired.

Their leader, Bofur noticed, looked pale – certainly not from the fight.

"Yes," said Gandalf, "Though we'll have to be careful."

"I don't think further loss of blood will do Mr. Baggins any good," added Balin with a frown.

Gandalf pressed his lips together. For a moment Bofur thought the grey wizard was close to breaking – his hands clenched, though then Thorin's commanding voice cut through the tense silence. "How far to your acquaintance's lodgings?"

"A day's march," replied Gandalf. His hand rested on Bilbo's forehead, though the hobbit was deeply unconscious by now.

"Then we leave once Mr. Baggin's injuries have been treated," said Thorin, "The stars are bright enough to see by, and we can't linger in case some goblins escaped. The sooner we reach your acquaintance the better."

Gandalf appeared hesitant, but agreed.

* * *

It was a hard day's march. They did not break for lunch – hunger was but a minor complaint when one of their companions hovered near death's door. The hobbit hadn't woken again, and kept constantly growing paler, sometimes shivering even though he had been wrapped in two fur cloaks by now.

Nobody spoke.

Gandalf turned them northeast, and slowly the Misty Mountains began to disappear behind them. The woods grew thicker, the wind colder.

The goblins, however, did not cross their path again.

Eventually, after they had wandered through a strange patch of land for two hours, Gandalf ordered their company to a stop. Before them loomed a large hedge, almost invisible among the trees.

"I will take Mr. Baggins inside first," announced Gandalf and marched over to Dwalin who at that moment carried the hobbit's unmoving form, "Sit down for a while. I will fetch you later."

And with that, Gandalf took Bilbo and vanished through the hedge.

It felt strange to stand still after they had been walking so hard the entire day. Balin was the first to stretch his back, and then sit down. Fili and Kili hesitantly followed – before long, the entire company tried to make themselves comfortable on the mossy ground.

Even Thorin found his feet ached, and his hands were bloody.

Ice filled his veins. He had carried Bilbo hours ago – the blood was now dark and dry – but the hobbit's limb body had felt so frail in his arms. The sensation of guilt coiling around his chest constricted further.

Hadn't he promised to see to Bilbo's safety? Hadn't he sworn to repay Bilbo for saving his life? Only that now, once again, the hobbit seemed closer to death than to living.

Thorin closed his eyes with an exhausted sigh.

All he could do was hope that Bilbo survived and he would have another chance at fulfilling his vow.

* * *

Nobody knew exactly how much time had passed until Gandalf remerged. Following him was a very tall, man-like shape, and Thorin had difficulty determining exactly what being it was.

"This," said Gandalf, gesturing to the gigantic, bear-like man hovering threateningly behind his shoulder, "Is Beorn. He has agreed to house our company for the time being."

Thorin pressed his lips together. He ached, and all he wanted to know was how Bilbo had fared – but neither Gandalf, nor that Beorn appeared inclined to reveal anything.

"You have our utmost gratitude," said Thorin, keeping his face straight. Next to him he felt Kili stepping from one foot to the other, and a constant rustle betrayed a current of nervous energy among them.

"Come in", said Beorn and turned.

Gandalf gestured at them to follow. With a frown Thorin did – he had many questions – but had to wait for an appropriate time.

The building was gigantic. Thorin and his fellow dwarves were well used to feeling small, but not quite like this. He had seen tall men, however none as ginormous as Beorn. In the middle of a hall-like structure stood a large table, decked out with food, and around it dogs and other animals were coming and going, carrying plates and dishes.

It would have been bedazzling, had Thorin's mind not been otherwise occupied. He was not the only one – when Beorn offered them food, Kili was the one to step forward.

"How is Mr. Baggins?" Kili asked, "Could you save him?"

Beorn's expression grew solemn. No one, not even Thorin dared to breathe.

"His injuries were very grave."

_tbc_


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not mine & nothing to warn for, either.
> 
> Thank you all very much for reading! I originally intended to end the fic somewhere around here, though right now I'm pondering a plot line that will continue a bit longer still. As I'm undecided and rl is busy, the next update may regrettably take a bit.
> 
> On the other hand, thank you all very, very much for reading so far!!!

Silence fell like a hammer's blow. For a moment, no one found any words, and at least Thorin felt as if his heart had stopped.

"What do you mean?" asked Balin (and if his voice came out strained, nobody noticed).

Beorn's expression did not change, and if was Gandalf who let out a sigh and relaxed. "As Beorn said, Bilbo's injuries were grave. However, hobbits are rather tenacious, and what would have killed many others, Bilbo survived."

Several relieved sighs echoed over the clearing. A faint smile made its way on Gandalf's face - after all the disgruntlement Bilbo had become a beloved member of the company. Even Thorin did not hide how the news made him feel as if a heavy burden had been lifted.

Only Gandalf, in the depth of his soul, kept questioning himself. Why had he chosen Bilbo, when the hobbit was so obviously unsuited for adventure? Having been an adventurous child was little reason - especially when Gandalf ought to have foreseen how easily Bilbo was going to be hurt in the adventure.

Change he had expected. But perhaps he had failed at determining the exact nature and processes of change. It had been naive to think this adventure would end without scars - especially with a dragon waiting at its end (something Gandalf did not want to particularly contemplate even now).

"For now Bilbo rests," Gandalf told the company, "And Beorn invites you to share his table tonight."

Balin did accept the invitation. Thorin glanced down and found his hands blood-stained. His stomach twisted.

His stomach would accept no food tonight.

* * *

Empty as their stomachs were, Thorin knew his was knotted in too many twists to accept food ere he had seen to Bilbo. The hobbit's fate rested heavy upon his conscience, and there were too many words Thorin had yet to say - too many things Thorin would never forgive himself for, should Bilbo pass before the crown less King can apologize.

It took some badgering, but where Thorin's cold demands failed, Kili's pleading did the job. With a sigh Gandalf allowed a small group along - Thorin, Fili, Kili, Balin and Oin. And with them they took the well wishes of the entire company.

Gandalf cast a meaningful glance in Bofur's direction, making certain Thorin watched as Bofur told Kili just to make certain Bilbo is as comfortable as possible. Thorin swallowed. Bofur ought to have a place within their group. More so than Thorin.

Because where Thorin was cold and downright rude in his treatment of Bilbo, Bofur is one of the few among their company who could honestly call himself a friend to the hobbit.

Yet for now it was merely Thorin's position as leader of the company that allowed him to enter the separated chamber tucked away in a corner of Beorn's home. Perhaps one day he would be able to count himself a friend, too.

Gandalf gestured at them to be silent, then opened the door.

The chamber was not exactly small - easily large enough to fit their entire party - and in its middle stood a large bed. Due to the dim light, Thorin first failed to see Bilbo. And when he caught sight of him, the small form seemed to be drowning among the pillows.

Bilbo slept, though a frown on his face told Thorin it was no painless sleep. Under their watching eyes, Bilbo's forehead creased, and with a soft groan he attempted to turn - only to find his movements restricted by the sheets tightly wrapped around his body.

Fili made a step forward, "He can't move."

Balin stretched out a hand, staying the young dwarf, and Gandalf explained in a low voice: "He shouldn't. It won't be good for his injuries if he puts weight on them, so we had to make certain he can't turn."

"That can't be comfortable," muttered Kili and Thorin found himself agreeing whole-heatedly. He did, however, also understand the reason even before Balin spoke up. "It is, but it's necessary."

"He'll live?" asked Kili then, and Thorin held his breath.

Gandalf nodded. Now the wizard looked exhausted; concerned still, but not as worried as he had been on the road.

"He'll live – the wounds were serious, and many would have succumbed to them much earlier. Luckily for us, hobbits are hardier, and so our hobbit will live. Live and recover, though it will take time."

* * *

The following day, however, brought no improvement. Instead of waking up, Bilbo was running a high fever and delirious. Gandalf spend the entire day at Bilbo's side, requesting either cold or hot towels to be brought, water and some broth.

Thorin felt useless.

The rest of the company took to various other tasks. Bombur looked for ingredients to refill their stocks, Dwalin and Gloin chose to re-sharpen their and everyone else's weapons. It sent an odd spike of emotion through his chest when Thorin caught sight of Bilbo's small sword among the pile.

Now the blade had seen battle and bloodshed.

And Thorin only wished it had not.

Most of the company had settled down to rest – there was little to do at Beorn's house, and once clothes had been cleaned and weapons cared for, they could only wait in uneasy silence for a word on Bilbo's condition.

A suggestion to go scouting had been shot down by Beorn, warning them of goblins crawling the woods. And while Thorin found himself almost itching for battle (those goblins had almost taken the life of one of his companions – his blood practically screamed for revenge), he also knew he could not risk it.

As harsh as the judgment seemed, luck had been with them that night. One injured member of their party seemed little when compared to the number of goblin's they'd killed – and the even greater number of goblins that had never even noticed the fight.

Had the main goblin host seen them, none would have survived.

Luck had been with them.

Yet luck had been vicious, too. (As vicious as Thorin's own words).

* * *

It took nearly two days for Bilbo's fever to go down, and then it left the hobbit too weak and sleepy to do much. Only on the morning of the third day Gandalf deemed Bilbo fit enough to speak with Thorin – though not nearly healthy enough to leave the bed yet.

Thorin held his breath when he entered the room. A smell of fresh herbs lingered in the air, masking the underlying musk of sickness. Bilbo was pale and almost gaunt, but upright in the enormous bed, with the covers pulled up to his chest.

He was sitting, and greeted Thorin when he entered, though all Thorin could see were the bandages peeking out under his shirt's collar, and how thin his wrists had become. His heart skipped a beat, and Thorin abruptly realized what he had to do.

"Master Baggins," Thorin said and then knelt down next to the bed, "I am in your debt. Whatever service you require of me, consider it yours."

Bilbo, flushed from fever, raised both hands. "Please, no, there's no need. I mean whatever for?"

"You saved my life. Twice," Thorin replied, "And were injured defending my kin and companions."

Bilbo swallowed. "They're my companions, too."

Then, he seemed to abruptly recall Thorin's words. "If you will have me, that is."

Thorin did wish for nothing more than the ability to take back those thrice-damned words he had uttered. Especially those he'd spoken after Bilbo had apparently saved him for the first time – the lack of memory did not devalue the deed.

"Master Baggins, I beg you not to doubt your place among the company," said Thorin, "I was wrong to doubt you – and I can only wish I had seen that sooner. The fault has always been with me – I was too blind to recognize your value, blinded by my misconceptions."

Bilbo shook his head, sending those golden curls flying. "No, no, no. You were entirely right to doubt me – I still have no idea how to actually wield a sword, to be honest. Whatever I did was pure luck."

"Saving my life twice is no mere luck, Master Baggins," Thorin replied, "Especially not if you did indeed step between Azog and myself."

Bilbo evaded his eyes then, and Thorin felt affection bloom in his chest, coupled with a sense of sheer incredulity. Among the wide bed the hobbit looked even smaller, and the soft sheets seemed only to enhance the gentleness and frailty of this being. Yet even so Bilbo had been all what had stood between Thorin and certain death.

"It was a bit of a spontaneous reaction, really," Bilbo muttered, "I don't know what I was thinking."

Thorin felt like reaching out and ruffling Bilbo's hair. It had grown quite long in the time they had been on the road.

"It was one of the most courageous acts I have witnessed in my entire life," said Thorin with a fond smile, "And had I the opportunity I would like to reward you handsomely for it.

Bilbo failed to reply then, because to him his actions still did not appear so grandiose. And the call of riches had never truly appealed to him, either. "Well," he said eventually, "Be that as it may, but isn't the floor rather uncomfortable? You can sit on the bed if you please– it's certainly large enough."

Thorin had forgotten about the wood digging into his knees, but he gladly did accept Bilbo's invitation. Sitting down on the bed almost felt like an invasion of private space – he could touch Bilbo now, he only needed to reach out – but then again, having Bilbo relax in his presence was an expression of forgiveness beyond what Thorin had dared to ask for.

"How are your injuries healing?" Thorin inquired instead, "Do they give you any pain?"

Bilbo grimaced slightly. "A bit. Nothing serious, though, and they are healing."

"No infection?"

"No, but apparently that was a close thing," Bilbo said, "Gandalf told me some of the cuts I got from the warg had started festering. But they managed to get to it in time. By the way, I really need to thank everybody who carried me – though I'm afraid I don't quite remember who all…"

Thorin shook his head now. "Don't worry about that, Master Baggins, carrying you was hardly a bother. But what did the wizard have to say about the cut to your shoulder?"

Because when Thorin closed his eyes he could still see the goblin blade pierced clear through Bilbo's shoulder. And fresh blood soaking through Bilbo's shirt and into the ground beneath.

He shuddered.

Bilbo's expression has grown more serious. Unconsciously he reached up to rub the injured shoulder. "It will take a while to heal, Gandalf said. Apparently I'm in luck because Beorn has some plants that will speed the process, but I'm not going to carry anything heavy with that arm in the near future. I hope that won't be a bother?"

"Not at all," said Thorin.

"Even if I can't fight?" Bilbo's eyes were wide, almost as if searching for a certain reaction on Thorin's face.

The King under the Mountain attempted a smile in return, hoping it to be what Bilbo was looking for. "Master Baggins, fighting was never required of you," he held up a hand to stall any protests, "You were contracted only as a burglar – not as a warrior or soldier. Beyond ensuring your own survival, there is no requirement for you to fight – and certainly none at all to risk your life to save another. I'm sorry if my behavior gave you the wrong idea, and for what it is worth, I promise to make certain no further harm will befall you."

Bilbo blinked, obviously surprised and a little confused, too. "But that's …" then he straightened up, "Do forgive me, but that is utterly dumb. If I am a member of the company, I will very well try to help my companions where I can, contract or not. I may not be skilled, but I will do what I can."

"And I'm alive for it," concluded Thorin, "So I couldn't be any more grateful – or sorry for having treated you so despicably before that."

And once again Bilbo more or less waved the apology away. "We didn't quite understand each other, then – there's no apology necessary for that since that was probably my fault as it was yours. All I'd like is to get better along from now on."

Simple pleasures, Thorin recalled, as warmth spread through his chest. Simple pleasures and simple wishes that cut through the core of his being.

"I wish for that as well," he replied evenly, "Though if you would allow me, I'd like to give you at least a small token of my gratitude."

And with that Thorin reached for his braids and with skilled fingers unclasped one of his beads.

"We have various kinds of beads – some are for special occasions, others are gifts from family or friends. This one," Thorin opened his hand to reveal a small, golden bead, "Has been in my family for ages. I would like you to have it."

"I … I don't think I can accept this. If it's a family heirloom, you should really keep it."

Thorin smiled. "It's a tradition among dwarves to give important others beads like this. It's a symbolic gesture – the receiver becomes a part of the family."

Bilbo might have paled, but as he is still so very white, only his eyes widen. It takes him a moment to find his words – politeness demanded he refuse the gift, while his heart is positively exploding with happiness at the idea of being considered family.

After the heart-wrenching sense of loneliness and isolation that had kept him company through many nights on this adventure, he wished for nothing more.

Thorin watched the emotions dance across Bilbo's face. When eventually a hopeful smile began to blossom on the hobbit's face, he responded in kind.

"Please," said Bilbo.

"Will you let me braid it in?" asked Thorin.

And with a trusting smile Bilbo leaned forward, offering Thorin free access to his hair. "Of course."

_tbc_


End file.
